CHAPTER 7

-

I

-

Roughly thirty feet from the road up the slope were remnants of a stone wall that stretched for fifteen to twenty feet. It was more than six and a half feet high.

There was a silvery flash.

From the other side of the partition came an agonized cry.

D hung in the air. The stone wall he’d sliced through at an angle toppled over with a dull thud—and the Hunter landed beyond that piece without a sound, facing it. Between D and the wall was a figure in vestments clutching his right shoulder. Bright blood spilled between his fingers, leaving vivid red stains on the ash-gray fabric.

“Are you one of Valcua’s henchmen?” D inquired in a low tone. He didn’t ask the man his name. This was someone he had to slay. All that mattered was whom he served.

“N-no, I’m not . . . ,” the figure in vestments replied with a desperate shake of his head, but his pale complexion said more than that.

D took a smooth stride forward. An instant later, two things happened. D’s stance shook ever so slightly, and from the sky high above him a colorful object swooped down. A flash of light danced out, and the form became a bisected kite that fell to the ground.

Ordinarily, the Hunter’s blade would’ve reversed direction and gone for the robed figure—splitting Courbet’s head open. However, his target flew away from the path limned by the tip of his sword. The man raised his right hand high, and his body floated up into the air, flying off into space at a speed D couldn’t hope to match. D hurled a rough wooden needle after him with his right hand, and the robed figure clutched his throat. His groans streamed through the air, but his form swiftly dwindled, becoming a speck that was swallowed by the blue sky.

As the Hunter sheathed his blade, free as usual of a single drop of gore, there was the sound of several small footfalls on the road up the hill.

“There it is!”

“Oh, it’s been cut!”

“That stinks!” a chorus of children’s voices cried.

Picking up the kite, D headed toward them. The faces of the paralyzed children were tinged with fear and admiration. Just a glance told them there was nothing ordinary about this young man. For these children who’d never be able to leave the Frontier, outsiders were the object of adulation.

“Whose kite is this?” D asked.

The children backed away, as if threatened by the Hunter’s gaze.

“It—it’s his!” they said, shoving one boy forward.

He was a little redhead about eight or nine years old. Apparently shy, he lowered his eyes, and his body tensed from nervousness.

There were five children all told.

“Sorry about that. Let me pay you restitution,” D said, pulling a coin out of an inner coat pocket. Just as he was about to put it in the boy’s hand, the boy hurriedly pulled his hand away and shook his head.

“That’s too much—I couldn’t take it.”

“Then in return, you can also answer a question for me. Did your kite cut somebody’s string?”

Kite flyers normally crashed their kites into others, trying to slash each other’s strings.

Eyes still lowered, the boy shook his head and said, “Nope. It got cut.”

“I cut it,” said a pudgy girl behind the boy, inflating her chest proudly.

“I see. Thank you,” D said, giving the boy the coin and walking away.

Reaching the road up the slope, he turned to look back. Right behind him, the children halted. He started walking again—and turning, found the children stopped again and staring at him.

“Seems you’re Mr. Popular,” the hoarse voice remarked with amusement.

“Can I do something for you?” D asked.

Glancing at each other, the children fidgeted. Still, they couldn’t hide the youthful curiosity and adoration that burned in their eyes.

Looking determined, the same pudgy girl from earlier asked, “Mister—are you a Hunter?”

“Yes.”

“A Vampire Hunter?”

“That’s right.”

Before he’d even finished answering, the children broke into cheers.

“Wow! A real, live Vampire Hunter!”

“That’s so cool.”

“You know, as soon as I saw you, I knew that’s what you had to be for sure!”

“Awesome!”

The chubby girl asked, “So, how many Nobles have you cut down?”

“Well—a lot.”

“Excellent!”

“Does it make you happy that a lot of Nobility have been destroyed?” D asked.

“Of course it does!”

All the children nodded their agreement.

“I hope all those monsters get turned into dust.”

“Yeah, me too!”

The tall boy who seemed to be their leader asked, blushing, “Um—do you think I could be a Hunter, too?”

“Do you want to be one?”

“Sure.”

“Then give it your best.”

“You bet!” he replied, his previously drooping head shooting up high.

On his way back to the vehicle, the Hunter passed a number of villagers running up the hill. Apparently the men doing the carpentry had let the others know of the mayor’s demise.

“Go on home,” D said.

The children showed no signs of leaving.

“Go home now.”

When his tone became sterner, it came as little surprise the children quickly scattered, but they continued to watch the Hunter from behind statues and stone walls.

“Looks like you’re a hero here,” the hoarse voice chided.

“When that kite fell, I stepped on a stone and was thrown off balance,” D said.

The hoarse voice responded, “And as a result—that bugger got away. To all appearances, it’s just a coincidence. The ceiling collapsing on the villager in the chapel and the mayor falling through the ground were coincidences, too. Plus, there just happened to be a corpse rider underground. Hmm . . . It all seems a little too convenient. Still, you stepping on that stone was undoubtedly a coincidence, and so was the kite. Makes me wonder.”

“You think he can control coincidences?”

After a short pause, the hoarse voice replied, “Could be.”

“If he can, will it prevent me from cutting him down?”

“That’s a distinct possibility.”

Someone with the ability to control coincidences might cause wind-borne leaves to block an attacker’s field of view without even needing to think about it, or a split second before receiving a blow, that same opponent might happen to notice he hadn’t strapped his armor on correctly.

“We’ll have to find some way around that, I guess,” the hoarse voice murmured grimly. They heard the faint sound of a motor, and then the door to Count Braujou’s car opened. Matthew and Sue stepped out and stretched. Obviously they’d been released because D had returned.

D inquired coolly, “Did the count tell you to get out?”

Dismissing that with a wave of his hand, Matthew replied, “No, it wasn’t like that. We asked him to let us out. It’s one big room in there, real lavish like a castle or something, but with the artificial lamps and all, it feels kinda stuffy.”

Beside him, Sue nodded but said nothing.

“What happened?” the count’s voice finally asked.

Once D had explained the situation, the Nobleman remarked, “That’s a strange ability he has. Is he one of the foes we know about? Or is he one of the two about whom we know nothing? Eh?”

The count’s gloomy monologue was interrupted by the village children, who had gathered once more around the Hunter.

D remained silent, but the leader of the group finally said to him, “Um, mister—you’re gonna leave town, aren’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“Then I guess we’ll never get another chance to meet a Vampire Hunter again. So, um . . .”

“Oh, don’t even think about it,” the hoarse voice said. It was a special remark that D alone heard. “There’s no money to be made showing these brats your tricks.”

“You want to see something?” D asked.

“You bet!” the children exclaimed.

Matthew and Sue looked at each other, and then trained curious eyes on D.

“Oh, you big dope!” said the voice the Hunter alone heard.

“Show us anything. Anything at all,” the children cried out.

D pointed down at their feet. “Pick up some rocks and throw them at me. Throw them whenever you like, from wherever you like.”

The children complied with his request, but they were reluctant once they had the stones in hand.

“Don’t hold anything back. I’m a Vampire Hunter.”

D’s words stoked the flames of battle in the children.

“Everyone—we’ll all let him have it at the same time. Spread out.”

At their leader’s command, the little combatants ran out all around D. D stood right where he was. A thread of tension connected the children. This wasn’t a game. This was war.

“Let ’im have it!”

With the leader’s shout, rocks flew at D from all directions.

What exactly was it that the children saw? Thin streaks of light spun around D as he stood perfectly still. Even when they heard the ring of hilt against scabbard, that light remained burned into the children’s retinas along with the gorgeous figure in black. They didn’t notice that the rocks they’d thrown with all their might had rolled right back at their feet. It was several seconds before they took note and finally exhibited normal human surprise again.

They were left speechless by the shock, but D bent over to pick a stick up off the ground—a tree branch about a foot and a half long.

He told the children, “Take a swing at me.”

“What?” they said, their youthful faces more excited than surprised. Who would’ve thought they’d get to practice with a Vampire Hunter? It was understandable that they hesitated to take the stick.

D waved his right arm, and the stick jabbed into the ground at the feet of one of the boys. It was the same boy who’d had the string cut on his kite. The boy wasn’t looking at D. His downturned eyes beheld only the ground.

Several seconds passed. And then the boy’s face rose little by little, looking toward the branch. He grasped the stick with both hands.

“Wow! He’s usually got less nerve than anyone!” the leader exclaimed, his eyes going wide. “No matter what we do, he always holds back, always goes last. He’s the slowest kid around! But he’s going first. Hey, Slowpoke, you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Good for you! Give ’im hell, Slowpoke!” the chubby girl said, clapping her hands, and the other children followed suit.

The boy’s face flushed, and then he made a manly expression of what was clearly determination. The boy they’d always called “Slowpoke” had kept something hidden in his heart, and now it’d become a fire. Without anyone telling him what to do or ordering him, he let out a youthful and ferocious cry to focus himself for battle. Making a thrust, he passed by the Hunter on the left. To the children, it looked as if he’d passed right through D’s body. Desperately trying to slam on the brakes, the boy dug his feet into the ground as he turned around.

D’s right hand was going for the hilt over his shoulder. Seeing where he’d be coming from, the boy adjusted his stance with the branch.

A faint shadow skimmed across D’s lips. A smile.

The Hunter tapped the toe of his boot lightly against the ground. The stick, except for the part the boy gripped, fell to the ground.

A rumble that wasn’t quite words spilled from the mouths of the children—and from those of Matthew and Sue.

When had he drawn his sword and made the cut? More than that, how had he managed to not move at all while avoiding the boy thrusting straight toward him? All these things remained a mystery. However, the children accepted them. This was a Vampire Hunter—a man who slew the Nobility.

D stood before the boy, who was so stunned he still hadn’t left his combat stance.

“You know what happened, don’t you? I took a hit to the waist.”

When the Hunter’s hand touched the stick, the boy released fingers that were wrapped so tightly around the wood it seemed like part of him, and the branch was transferred into D’s hands. He picked up the half on the ground as well. Though the branch was a piece of wood, the cuts on either end had a sheen like metal. Sticking them together, D held them for the span of two breaths or so, and then brought one of his hands away.

The branch didn’t fall apart.

Placing it back in the boy’s hand, he said, “Give it a swing.”

The boy made a hesitant swing with it.

“Give it all you’ve got.”

The boy swung it high, and then swung it low. It whistled through the wind. But the stick remained in one piece.

Surprise and another emotion glowed in the face of the boy—and in the faces of all the children. They were quite impressed.

“That’s all,” D said. “You scored a hit on a Vampire Hunter. Never forget that.”

There was no reply.

The boy knew that D had purposely let him get that hit in. The other children were fully aware of it as well. However, the boy wasn’t embarrassed, and the other children had no complaints. What they’d been focused on wasn’t what D had done, but rather the boy’s actions as he took up the branch and charged at the Hunter. Whether D had let the boy hit him or not, that was good enough for the children.

Clapping the boy on the shoulder, the leader said, “That was pretty good.”

“I won’t be calling you Slowpoke anymore,” the chubby girl said, grinning.

By the time a smile spread across the boy’s whole face, D was already walking off toward Matthew and Sue.

-

II

-

When the last hint of red decorating the rim of the western mountains had been lost, Count Braujou appeared.

“This Courbet fellow seems to be connected to the spider man who attacked me,” the man who’d fallen from the stratosphere pointed out. “In which case, we should prepare ourselves for air-to-air combat. But before we do—we have to brace ourselves for being worshiped as gods, I suppose.”

“Are you really going?” Matthew inquired with dissatisfaction.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? The whole reason we stopped in this village is because you wanted to look good.”

“That may be true, but it’s still got me kinda worried. You guys aren’t gonna get beaten, are you?”

The count smiled widely. “Now there’s something that God only knows. It may be shabby, but I don’t think this shrine has been constructed on a whim. They must be fairly sure they can kill us.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” Matthew asked, both his voice and his expression growing even more uncertain. “The folks from the village seem to be on pins and needles. Apparently they blame you guys for the death of the mayor.”

Glancing at D, the count said, “How is that my fault?” His tone was sly. In this regard, the Nobility didn’t differ at all from human beings.

D didn’t answer.

“There are three gods—D, Miranda, and myself. But Miranda isn’t here. If only two of us enter this shrine, I wonder if will incur the wrath of their true god.”

Looking at the brother and sister, D said, “Wait in the count’s car until we return.”

“Is it gonna be okay? Will you really come back?”

“What a nuisance you are, boy. If you tell us not to do this, we could save a lot of wasted time. Which will it be?”

“Well—we already said you’d do it.”

“In that case, relax,” the count said, clapping the boy on the shoulder.

Still, Matthew had his doubts. “But you don’t both have to go, do you? I mean, in case something happens.”

“Matt,” Sue said reproachfully. “You made the call. Pull yourself together.”

“I’ve got myself together,” Matthew countered heatedly. “But this isn’t like the farm or our village. There’s no one here to protect us except these two. If we lose them, what do you think will become of us? These people are out to kill you, too. You wanna end up like Mom?”

“Don’t say that to me at a time like this,” Sue said, her cheeks stained bright red. Not with anger, but with embarrassment.

“I suppose it’d be asking too much for you to have a little faith in the Nobility,” the count said, smiling and clapping Matthew on the shoulder again. Though the boy stood six feet tall, he was like a mere child beside the ten-foot-tall giant, and the slap tossed him violently.

“You’ll be safe if you remain inside my car. Though you’re still young, I suppose you drink wine, at least. The Nobility’s drinks are exceptional. So, shall we go?” Braujou said to D, swinging the long spear he held in his hand and walking toward both the Hunter and the village.

A half-moon rose, and there was some wind.

Villagers were already keeping watch on the situation from their homes or out on the streets, but they hurriedly shut their doors and windows, or else ducked behind buildings.

“Hmm. So the Nobility are still the object of fear, are they?” Count Braujou remarked, his tone conveying a certain amount of pride.

“I don’t know if that’s it,” said D.

“Oh, you mean they think we got their mayor killed? Wouldn’t it be best to dispel their misconceptions?”

The count continued on in this manner, but D didn’t reply, and the two of them came to the road up the hill. Only four villagers were waiting there.

An old man a bit larger and a bit older than the late mayor bowed his head and said, “Right this way.”

They followed him up the hill. The other three were also gray-haired and gray-bearded old men—making it seem like a procession of the dead.

Just before sundown the sound of hammering had ceased at the shrine, which stood quietly in the light of the half-moon. The two men who stood by its door bowed. Despite its rushed construction, the windowless shrine was remarkably well built.

“So, all the other houses are mud brick, but not this one. Wood burns, you know.”

The count seemed to read the intentions of the one who’d ordered its construction, laughing and looking up at the sky. The village leaders followed his example, having heard the manner in which the missionary had fled when cornered by D. The man who’d vanished into the heavens would probably be watching the ground from on high. But would he descend from the heavens again?

“Is there anyone inside?”

At D’s query, the men all shook their heads. The middle-aged man who stood at the fore turned to the two men who’d been guarding the shrine.

“No, not a soul. Not even a mouse could’ve got by us, right?”

The other man nodded repeatedly at this.

Everyone there was utterly terrified. None of them had actually seen a Noble before. What’s more, this one was ten feet tall. And they knew about the other man who stood beside him—the young man darker than the darkness and more exquisite than the moonlight. They could tell he was a dhampir.

“Very well, then—”

The count extended his right hand, and a spear seemed to grow from his fist and jabbed against the door to the building. Creaking on its hinges, the door swung inside. A bit over twelve feet high, the doorway would allow the count to enter without any difficulty.

Side by side, they were walking toward the flickering lamplight that filled the doorway when the count narrowed his gaze and exclaimed, “Dear me! It would seem mice have taken to wearing perfume these days. And Noble perfume, at that.”

Both men stepped into the building at the same time.

The ceiling, floor, and walls were all made of wood, with the flames of a single lamp dancing against each of the four walls. Aside from that, there was nothing else . . . except for the lithe, alluring figure in white that lay sleeping at the base of the wall ahead of them.

From the vicinity of D’s left hip, a hoarse voice exclaimed, “Oh, is that Miranda I see?”

The woman who lay there with her sensuous form draped in a white dress was indeed Miranda.

“Who brought her here, and when, and how?”

The two men most likely shared the same questions as the hoarse voice. This female fiend’s husband had long ago challenged the Ultimate Noble, along with Count Braujou and General Gaskell. It would’ve been easier to believe the whole world was crumbling than to think the same tried-and-true Noblewoman who’d effortlessly fended off the water witch back at the Dyalhis farm could be put to sleep so easily or left there so defenseless.

The two of them halted simultaneously. Nodding, the count said to leave this to him and raised his long spear.

Did he seriously intend to impale Miranda?

D showed no signs of trying to stop him.

Whistling through the air, the iron spear lanced right through Miranda’s abdomen. The count hadn’t hurled the spear. Rather, he’d kept it in his hand and made a thrust, like a spear fisherman. Was this cruelty the true nature of a Noble—the true nature of a vampire? He certainly felt the agony of Miranda’s silent contortions transmitted from the spearhead down the weapon and through his hand, and what should arise on his refined countenance but the bloodthirsty grin of a demon.

Wasn’t D going to stop this?

The Hunter stood stock still as the hoarse voice said, “Hmm. Interesting approach.”

It was at that moment the beautiful woman stopped moving. Concentrating a glowing red gaze on the spear and the bright blood spilling from her abdomen, she then slowly turned to one side and looked up at the count, eyes agleam with malice and mocking laughter.

“What a pleasant way to awaken someone,” said Miranda. Gouts of blood spilled from her mouth to paint vermilion patterns on the floor.

While it had indeed awakened her, the devil himself couldn’t have come up with a more disturbing manner of rousing someone.

Her gore-stained mouth shouted, “Hurry up and take that thing out of me, you rude man!”

Shrugging, the count smirked as he pulled his long spear back out of her.

The wound closed immediately—not only that, but the fabric seemed to drink up the lifeblood that had seeped from the duchess; in the blink of an eye it all vanished. The men could only gaze at her in surprise as she rose in a pure-white dress without a single spot on it. A displeased look flitted across the graceful features of the Noblewoman the moment she saw Count Braujou lick up the blood she’d left on the tip of his spear.

“How did you get here?” D asked. It was a natural question.

“How indeed,” Miranda said, smiling seductively and looking up at D. “I myself don’t know. I spent all day resting in my coffin, and the next thing I knew, I was here.”

“Can you recall ever traveling subconsciously?”

The count was referring to the ability of Nobles to unknowingly travel through space. Since their history had begun, on a few extremely rare and freakish occasions Nobles had traveled from the idle darkness of their enclosure out into the blinding light of day without realizing it, and when it was concluded that this phenomenon was linked to a central mechanism of the Nobility’s own psyche, it caused an absolute panic among the Nobles. Even after an investigation conducted by the Sacred Ancestor’s personal team of physicians determined the cause to be a subconscious longing for the light, many Nobles tried their best not to believe the findings. But that was what the count had been asking about.

“No, I do not,” Miranda replied disdainfully, but the smile never left her face. “Which isn’t to say it couldn’t happen. That’s probably what occurred here. If not, how could I have come to be in such a wretched place without knowing it?”

“Then you came by coincidence?”

D’s murmurs caused the two Nobles to turn.

“It couldn’t be,” the count said. “Not even Miranda could appear before us just at the right time. She doesn’t even know where we are.”

“Have you ever seen this place?”

At D’s question, the Noblewoman gave an alluring shake of her head. “No, I’ve never been here before.”

Lovingly stroking the shaft of his long spear, the count said, “Then, could this be the work of someone with powers we don’t know about working for Valcua?”

“It might be Valcua himself,” D said, his words freezing the very air.

-

III

-

Whoever brought the sleeping Miranda there could’ve ended her life if they’d chosen to do so. The fact that she was still alive spoke volumes about the supreme confidence their unseen opponent had in how perfectly he’d laid this trap.

It was Miranda who fractured the frozen air.

“The three of us can’t just stand around this doghouse discussing matters. That conversation will keep until later. I’ll be going now.”

The hem of her dress whirled as she headed toward the entrance. Her shoulders were trembling slightly, perhaps due to the humiliation of not only being abducted by their foe with such ease, but not even noticing it at the time, and then having her two compatriots witness that fact. However, the proud Noblewoman halted before she’d taken three steps.

“How did you two enter this place?”

Her query caused the two men to turn, and Count Braujou gasped.

The place where the door should’ve been was a plank-covered wall. There wasn’t a single crack to indicate an entrance.

“Dear me. This is a fine amusement they’ve prepared for us. Do you want out, Miranda? Just wait. Now—”

The count raised the spear over his head. It made the wind swirl so fiercely the hastily erected shack seemed likely to blow away. Amid that roar, they heard an impact.

Pulling the spear back, the count stared at the wall to his right. There wasn’t a scratch on it.

“I struck it. What do you think, D? Do my eyes deceive me?”

The young man in black turned his handsome features in the same direction and replied, “No, it really is shrinking.”

It wasn’t strange that the nearly twenty-foot-long spear would strike the wall. The count had taken that into account when he swung the weapon.

The ceiling was approaching the trio’s heads, just as D said, and the walls were definitely drawing closer.

“What a quaint setup,” Miranda said with a bewitching smile. Even the most resolute human would’ve been bewildered at this situation, but the way she seemed to actually enjoy their predicament was true to the Nobility’s dauntless nature. “Count Braujou, can’t you do anything with your cherished spear?”

“Hmph,” the gigantic Nobleman snorted, but there was something about his expression and bearing that suggested he, too, was enjoying this. Without a wasted movement, the count swung the long spear toward the wall to his right. Its path was clearly shorter than last time, and it bounced off the wall with a strident sound.

“Oh my, I may have given you too much credit,” Miranda sneered as she looked at the unmarred wallboards.

The count’s lips twisted as he took a new stance with his spear.

The Noblewoman told him, “Just so you know, even if you stop the walls to our left and right, there’s still the other two to contend with. What’s all this?”

That last cry of surprise came when she saw D step forward. His right hand flowed toward his shoulder—and a silvery flash split the dancing lamplight.

A line had been carved in the wall.

Miranda and the count gasped.

The line immediately faded.

Sheathing his blade, D stepped closer to the wall and pressed his left hand against it.

“Hmm. It seems to absorb gravity,” the hoarse voice said. “Think of the house itself as a kind of black hole. Beyond the boards—no, actually the boards themselves have had their neutrons and electrons fused to form an incredibly dense material. If we don’t do something, we’ll eventually be absorbed by the house and become part of that black hole.”

“Goodness,” Miranda said, ceremoniously raising her hand to her mouth. True to her high station, she clutched a handkerchief in it as always.

“My, but this is becoming rather trying, wouldn’t you say?” the count said. His voice resounded over D’s head.

Staring up at the giant, who’d been forced down on one knee, D pulled a fistful of dirt from one of his coat’s inner pockets.

“Did you bring that just in case? It’s not like you to be so well prepared. Oof!”

Pushing the palm of his hand—and the human face that’d surfaced on it—into the tightly packed ball of earth, D took a step to the left. The count’s spear had managed to stop the walls in front of and behind them, but it would be difficult to do anything about those to the left and the right, and the ceiling had already dropped to about six and a half feet. The count lay face down on the floor.

“Pardon me,” a sweet voice said at the same time a softly perfumed sleeve came into contact with D. Standing to his left, Miranda had been pushed closer to him.

“From what we just saw, it looks like we can depend on you. Is there anything you can do?” she asked, her fragrant breath falling against D’s face. It was like a bare tree in winter.

“Give me a hand,” D told the count.

“But I—I can’t get up very well,” the count groused.

“Your hand,” D said, bending over and taking the count’s left hand.

As the Nobleman furrowed his brow, the Hunter unbuttoned Braujou’s cuff, exposing his wrist. D forcefully flicked his little finger against it and caught the lifeblood that poured out in the palm of his left hand. Not a single drop was wasted.

“Oh, that’s a bizarre little thing you have there.”

“How unusual,” Miranda said. Her face and that of the count, both nearly pressed against D’s, displayed astonishment. It wasn’t clear whether or not they realized how distressed they appeared.

“Okay,” the left hand said, while D ran the same finger across the count’s gash. The blood and the wound both disappeared.

“Hold your breath. I’m gonna suck up some air.”

Air whistled into the mouth in his left hand.

All three of them asphyxiated simultaneously. The mouth of the weird-countenanced carbuncle had drawn in every bit of air in the room with a single breath. A pale blue flame flickered in the depths of its tiny maw.

Earth, water, fire, and air—all four elements had been assembled.

Miranda trembled. Her face was pale. Did she sense something from D?

The ceiling was just above D’s head as he crept on his belly. The space was fewer than six feet from left to right.

“Pardon me,” Miranda said, sprawling across the back of the prone count as D began to creep forward.

The walls were closing on them from the front and back. The long spear was bent to its limits. The ever-shrinking confines of the hastily constructed shack-cum-black-hole must have put hundreds of millions of tons of pressure on either end of the weapon. Both this trap and the spear were mind boggling.

The ceiling dropped even further.

“You know, this is beginning to hurt,” Miranda’s voice called out behind the Hunter.

The top of his traveler’s hat hit the ceiling. Now lying completely flat, D drew his sword. It was pitted against ultradense walls that wouldn’t allow even electromagnetic waves or light to escape. There was the sound of bones creaking behind him.

D thrusted his sword. Miranda and Count Braujou saw it slide into the wall like a mirage. Glowing cracks spread out around them. No one knew how the black hole collapsed.

Above the three people lying in a tiny lot, the half-moon glowed starkly. D was the first to rise.

A murmur went through the villagers, who’d been watching from afar.

“The gods are safe!”

“They might be, but why are they sprawled over there?”

“At any rate, they must be worshiped!”

Kneeling on the ground, they raised their arms and bowed deeply.

Sheathing his blade, D looked back at the other two.

The gigantic figure stared intently at his terribly bowed spear, and then said in a distressed tone, “Hmph. There’ll be no fixing this.”

The weapon had endured billions of tons of pressure. It was a miracle that it hadn’t snapped.

Apparently giving up on it, he shifted his gaze to D, and his eyes had a hint of fear in them as he asked, “Just who exactly are you, sir?”

“I should like to know that as well. You’re just fantastic,” Miranda said as she stood beside the count, both hands folded together and her body trembling. “It’s almost as if—as if I were looking at the great one in his youth. The first time I had the honor of meeting him, he already seemed as timeless as the universe, so I can only imagine what he must’ve been like. But verily, in his younger days he must’ve resembled this regal knight—”

“He’s a Hunter,” the count reminded her, both his tone and his expression morose.

“Oh, dear!”

“But that’s not to say there isn’t some resemblance,” the Nobleman continued.

Two pairs of eyes crawled over every inch of D with obvious interest and curiosity.

Footsteps pounded up the hill. It was one of the villagers. Ignoring the old men asking what had happened, the villager ran straight to D and said, “Your car’s been stolen. I was keeping an eye on it with a bunch of the others. Then that missionary came along and whispered something to it, and it sped off all by itself down the highway that runs west!”

“Didn’t anyone go after it?” one of the old men cried out, his jowls quaking with the words.

“It all happened so suddenly. And that car’s terribly fast.”

“What became of the missionary?”

“I don’t know. We were all focused on the car, and the next thing we knew, he wasn’t there anymore.”

“Excuse me,” Miranda said with a cough before turning to the count. “Are you certain this isn’t due to some negligence on your part?”

“It can’t be,” the count spat angrily. “That car is under the complete control of a proton computer. Its recognition sensors can check five million points in a half a millionth of a second to see if a person is me or not. It would never operate on anyone else’s instructions.”

“And yet, it left.”

“Oh, shut up!” the count said. Those who could see in the dark saw his face darkening with rage.

As the villagers stood paralyzed, thinking the allies were about to fight among themselves, one of them noticed something. D was looking up at the sky.

Following his lead, the villagers gasped aloud. By the time the count and Miranda looked up in the air, grumbling spilled from the foremost rank of villagers like a bank of clouds.

“What’s that?”

“The half-moon just became a full moon.”

“The top half wasn’t there. Hey, are those letters I see?”

Indeed, there were letters darkly stained into the top half of the brightly shining moon.

“Wha—what’s written up there?”

A hoarse voice that the villagers straining their eyes would never hear said in a murky tone, “Come to Galleon Valley tomorrow at one o’clock Afternoon. If all three of you aren’t there, the hostages’ lives are forfeit.”

“What’s this Galleon Valley place?”

When the count’s query rained down on him from above, the villager who’d raced to notify them replied in a quavering voice, “It’s a valley just two miles west of here. They say the Nobility used it as a testing ground long ago, but no one’s been out there as long as this village has been around.”

“Hmm. I don’t care where we have to go, but traveling by daylight is going to make things a little difficult. D, do you have any ideas?”

There was no reply. D would obviously be going with them. However, could even the Hunter put up a good fight against foes with the power to turn a board-covered shack into a black hole, or inscribe words on the half of the moon that should’ve been in darkness, especially when his two allies were forced to take refuge from the sunlight?

“Well, do you, D?” the count inquired again. The wind made the hem of his clothes and Miranda’s dress dance before reaching D’s hair.

The unearthly beauty of the young man in black’s face glowed in the moonlight as he asserted in a low voice, “I do.”

-

THE DIVA IN JANOS